Notorious B.I.G. - Kick In The Door Lyrics
Welcome back. *audience applauds*Were here on bad boy television, and Im trevin jonesAnd Ive been conversing with the mad rapper.And quite frankly -- hes very mad.Were gonna try to find out why; so well take some questionsAt this point from our studio audience.Yes maam, please stand and state your name, and where youre from.Hi, my name is shay, and Im from new rochelleAnd, I just dont understand, why you so mad. (yo, yo)Like what are you so mad about? (yo, yo, y-y-yo)You wanna know why, yo first of all, yo first of all you cantBe askin me no question knowhatimsayin who the ***** is you?(ahh, excuse me, mr. rapper, mr. rapper.) youknowhatimsayin?You cant be askin me no question (its a family oriented show.)Ima tell you why Im mad, youknowhatimsayin? ima tell you whyIm mad. ima tell you why Im mad. these niggaz is makin fiveHundred thousand dollar videos, yunusayin? they drivin around inHot cars, yunusayin? they got *****es, they got all that shit.(sir, please, please, refrain from your foul language.)Youknowhatimsayin? Im still livin with my moms, youknowhatimsayin?Thats my word. yunusayin? Im makin records I aint made no moneyYet I done made this is my fourth album yo, this my fourth album.I aint made a dime yet. this nigga made one album, he makin wildRecords. that ready to die shit, it was aight, it was aight,Yunumsayin, that shit was aight, it was cool. but my shit isMore john blaze than that! I got john blaze shit. and they notRecognizing, they not sayin I recognize. and ***** is that, whoIs you to be askin me questions, youknowhatimsayin? who is you?*mad rapper fades out*[cut and scratched I gots to talk. I gotta tell what I feel.I gotta talk about my life as I see it!]Intro: repeat 2x (biggie repeats every line of beat)This goes out to youThis goes out to you, and you, and you, and youVerse one:Your reign on the top was short like leprechaunsAs I crush so-called willies, thugs, and rapper-donsGet in that ass, quick fast, like ramadanIts that rap phenomenon don-dadda, ***** poppaYou got ta, call me, francis m.h. whiteIn tank-light totes, tote ironWas told in shootouts, stay low, and keep firinKeep extra clips for extra shitWhos next to flip, on that cat with that grip on rapThe mo shady, tell em!, frankie babyAint no tellin where I may beMay see me in d.c. at howard homecominWith my man capone, dumbin, *****in somethinYou should know my steeloWent from ten gs for blow to thirty gs a showTo orgies with hoes I never seen befoSo, jesus, get off the notoriousPenis, before I squeeze and bustIf the beef between us, we can settle itWith the chrome and metal shitI make it hot, like a kettle getYoure delicate, you better get, who sent ya?You still pedal shit, I got more rides than great adventureBiggie, how are you gonna do it?Chorus: repeat 4xKick in the door, wavin the four-fourAll you heard was poppa dont hit me no moreVerse two:On ya mark, get set, when I spark, ya wetLook how dark it get, when ya marked with deathShould I start your breath should I let you dieIn fear you start to cry, ask whyLyrically, Im worser, dont front the word sickYou cursed it, but rehearsed itI drop unexpectedly like bird shitYou herbs get, stuck quickly for royalties and show moneyDont forget the publishin, I punish em, Im done with themSon, Im surprised you run with themI think they got cum in them, cause they, nothin but dicksTryin to blow up like nitro and dynamite sticksMad I smoke hydro rock diamonds, thats sickGot pay off my flow, rhyme with my own clickTake trips to cairo, layin with yo *****I know you prayin you was rich, *****in prickWhen I see ya imaChorusVerse three:This goes out for those that choose to useDisrespectful views on the king of ny***** that, why try, throw bleach in your eyeNow ya braille in it, stash that light shit, or scalin itConscience of ya nonsense in eighty-eightSold more powder than johnson and johnsonTote steel like bronson, vigilanteYou wanna get on son, you need to ask meAint no other king in this rap thingThey siblings, nothing but my chilrenOne shot, they disappearinIts ill when, mcs used to be on cruddy shitTook home, ready to die, listened, studied shitNow they on some money shit, successful out the blueThey light weight, fragilly, my nine millyMake the white shake, thats why my money never funnyAnd you still recoupin, stupid *echoes*
